Love is the Colour of Blood
by Coral in the moon
Summary: AU, Regency era-ish. She had a bright future ahead of her. Then everything changed, and so did she. Now she was Cat, a fallen woman, trapped in a brothel with nowhere to go. But she'd always been the best at everything she did, and this was no different. Then Draco Malfoy came into the picture. Run, baby, run.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Firstly, this is very, _very_ different from my prior works, so younger readers may want to scat. Secondly, I make no promises as to when I can update. I've quite a bit written, but there are holes in between, and I have a lot on my plate already. But I will say that reviews are definitely encouraging :P**

**So, on to story details!**

**This was directly inspired by RZZMG's La Cerise. To be more precise, it was inspired by the criteria, which I append below:**

_1. A possessive Draco Malfoy._  
_2. A-U fic with magic set in England during the 1800's (Regency or Victorian era)._  
_3. Draco Malfoy would be the typical member of the peerage - rich, handsome, and a womaniser._  
_4. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy would be dead._  
_5. No info. on Hermione Granger's background, and she works off some "mysterious debt" in a Gentleman's Prostitution Establishment._  
_6. Ginny/Blaise as a second pair. Blaise is Draco's best friend & they go to the Establishment together, where Ginny works, too._  
_7. Ron and Astoria to be a part of this fic. Ron is one of the bodyguards or a handyman around the Establishment where Hermione works. Astoria would be another woman working there whom Draco usually visits._  
_8. Mature rating with graphic scenes. One with at least Astoria and Draco and another scene with Dramione having nonconsensual sex. The rest Hermione has to be willing._  
_9. Will include jealousy and a cat fight between Hermione & Astoria._  
_10. Happy ending for Dramione._

**I'll follow most of the criteria, except for the Ron bit. He will be in the fic, but not as a handyman/bodyguard, because I can't imagine why Ron would allow Ginny to work there.**

**I'm not overly concerned about historical accuracy - for starters, I've not much clue as to the difference between the Regency and Victorian eras. I will work in a bit of Muggle history, but I won't bend the story just to fit it in. Wizarding history is possibly another matter.**

**A very few very minor bits are taken from La Cerise, but this story goes in an entirely different direction, as the first chapter should prove.**

* * *

"Awake already, darling?" murmured Astraea in his ear.

"No," replied Draco.

"Liar," she said. She covered his nipple with her mouth, licking it once. Involuntarily, he tensed and she drew back. Without opening his eyes, he already knew the exact smile – slightly predatory satisfaction – that she would be wearing.

He rolled onto his side, away from her. "Go away."

"Not likely," she said, pressing her full body closely against him. "You're so lovely and warm. And soft," she added sweetly.

His eyes flew open at the taunt and within a breath, she was on her back and he was crushing her into the bed.

"What did you say, darling?" he asked, mimicking her sweet tone.

She only raised an eyebrow, daring him to prove it.

Much later, they were lying together in drowsy satisfaction when noise from belowstairs intruded on his consciousness.

"What's going on below?" he said sleepily.

"Something much like what goes on right here."

"You know what I mean."

Astraea propped herself up on one elbow, apparently to listen more closely, but he was fully aware that she knew that the sheets would slide from her as she did so. Frowning, she cocked her head slightly. "I think it's a ball – no, I know it's a ball. In honour of _La Veuve Noire_, as she has been named by her devotees." She shrugged, causing a couple of interesting things to sway.

"The Widow Black?"

"The Black Widow. After the poisonous spider, the one that kills and eats its mate."

"Quite a title," he said, sitting up and beginning to reach for his clothes.

"She's been here a while," said Astraea, stretching languorously. "The ball marks her second year here, I understand."

"Really? I hadn't heard of her."

"That's because you don't look around much here, and you never come for balls in this house."

"Because of you, my jewel. You are all I need."

She made a face at him but laughed.

Once both of them were dressed, she bent to blow out the candles. He stood at the doorway, holding out his hand to her. Taking it, she slid her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a long, slow kiss. "When will you come back, Draco?" she breathed. In the half-darkness, he heard something in her voice, something deeper than her usual coyness.

"Soon," he said.

She pulled back, and as though nothing had happened, said brightly, "Won't you even take a peep into the ballroom?"

"What for? Women in low cut gowns, dropping their fans every other minute so they can bend down and retrieve it – I've seen it a thousand times, both here and elsewhere. Although admittedly the balls here are much more…interesting."

"You are so jaded," said Astraea. "Perhaps it's just as well. _La Veuve Noire_ tends to have an _interesting_ effect on men."

"Is she such a charmer? Perhaps I will take a look, after all."

Astraea pursed her lips and frowned. "My Lord Draco. Such talk does not amuse me."

"You were asking me to take a peek just a moment ago, darling."

"I was asking you to dance with me, not to stare at other women," she said tartly.

"Indeed?" he said innocently.

"Draco…"

"I still have to wait for Blaise," he reminded her. "He was at Watier's till four this morning. I daresay he probably fell asleep after his precious Autumn wore him out."

"Either that or he has more stamina than someone," said Astraea mock-thoughtfully.

"As tempting as it is to throw you back into your bedroom and remain there for the next few hours, I have a raging thirst. May I procure you a glass of sherry, my lady?"

"Never mind, Draco. I think I'll go back to my room. You'll never dance with me anyway."

He shrugged. "It's your choice. Anyway, Blaise's time will soon be up, and he'll have to leave. I don't expect to remain for much longer once he comes down."

"Good night, my lord," said Astraea, blowing him a kiss.

He bowed to her. As she stepped back into her room and shut the door quietly, he went down the carpeted hallway, heading for the ballroom.

* * *

Entering the opulent ballroom, Draco headed straight for the drinks, pouring himself a glass of port and looking around idly, wondering which was the famous _La Veuve Noire_ – probably some woman with a bigger chest than all the others. As he had predicted, there were women flirting with men everywhere, dressed in gowns more daring than those worn elsewhere. Even as he happened to meet a masked woman's gaze, she smiled at him provocatively. He looked away and took a sip of his port.

It was only to be expected, after all. This was an Establishment for the Enjoyment and Entertainment of Gentlemen, as the more refined members of the peerage delicately termed it, or the Gentlemen's Establishment for short. The less inhibited – and more drunk – called it a brothel.

His eyes fell on a woman standing on the lower steps of the grand staircase, surrounded by men. This was a masquerade ball and everyone was masked, he noticed – and he was not. Two women from different directions were already converging on him. In an effort to forestall their advances, he moved towards a pillar and leant against it, staring fixedly at the woman at the foot of the staircase.

"I see you've noticed _La Veuve Noire_," said a voice in his ear.

"I see you've noticed me," he replied promptly without turning, and was rewarded by a laugh.

"You took your full time, I see," said Blaise, clinking his glass with Draco's. "Is she really that interesting?"

"Astraea? Reasonably so," answered Draco. "How about Autumn? I'm surprised you came down before me."

"Barely. She's a witch, in every possible sense of the word."

Draco laughed. "Be careful she doesn't catch you."

"Who, me?" drawled Blaise. "I'm not a fool, Draco."

"Could have fooled me."

"With me, my pretty," cried a man to _La Veuve Noire_. "Dance with me. Have I not been pining for your love for weeks on end?"

"With me, _ma cherie_," cried another, seizing her hand. "I have bought a dance with the necklace I gave you."

"_La Veuve Noire_ is very popular, I see," said Draco.

"Absolutely," said Blaise.

"Is she French?"

"Not at all. She's called Cat, but within her first few weeks here her admirers gave her a new name. Apparently Madame Cerise approved of it; thought would make her sound more exotic ... as though she needs the help."

In a whirl of white, the woman sprang free of her besotted would-be lovers, now standing a few steps above them all. "I am innocent tonight," she announced with relish. "I am a young girl, waiting for my true love to set me free. Who shall claim me?"

Shouts from the men around her temporarily drowned out all conversation, and Draco noticed with amusement that many women were shooting her deadly looks, particularly those standing alone.

One man, more daring than the rest, swiftly sprang up next to her and scooped her up in his arms. "I have you, beloved, and I will keep you," he declared, grinning outrageously.

"Bill Weasley was always a drama queen," said Blaise, laughing.

"You can't just snatch her up like that," objected another.

"And Boot was always whiny," replied Draco.

_La Veuve Noire _looked up at Weasley coyly. "Will you keep me, my lord?" Seemingly unconsciously, she ran the sole of one foot along the calf of the other leg in a slow and sensuous movement.

"Nice legs," commented Draco.

"Oh, yes," said Blaise.

Weasley set her down, bowing elaborately. "Will you honour me with a dance, my lady?"

Her mouth pursed prettily, she tilted her head, considering him. "Are you man enough, my lord?"

He straightened with a jerk. "I am more than man enough for you!" he exclaimed in outrage.

"Very well," she said. A curious little smile played across her lips. "I shall dance with you."

The other men groaned in disappointment as Weasley led her down to the dance floor. "A waltz for the lady and me!" he cried to the awaiting musicians.

"A waltz?" said _La Veuve Noire_. "I am a young girl, and I do not wish for such a tame dance. I am full of life and excitement, my lord. I long for a dance that calls for energy, and … _vigour._"

Weasley's eyes widened. Then he smiled hugely. "Naturally, my lady. What is your pleasure?"

"Do you know the Spaniards' dance?" she asked.

"Ah," said Weasley. "Shall we, my lady?"

"If you dare, my lord." Her eyes shone bright through her mask, taunting him.

Weasley returned no answer, but spun her into his arms as the musicians struck up.

"No, no," she cried. "Such a slow pace. Quicker!" Clapping her hands rhythmically, she quickened the beat of the music. Draco saw several musicians glance at each other in surprise.

"There, my lord," she said, curtseying to Weasley, who bowed to her despite his startled expression.

Then they began to dance.

From the very first moment that the dance began, Draco could not tear his gaze away from her. Every line of her body sang of grace, of beauty, as she whirled around the dance floor in Weasley's arms. Every movement sang of her passion and abandonment as she flung herself backwards as Weasley dipped her, arching her back until Draco held his breath.

_No wonder all the men are mad after her,_ he thought hazily. _She holds nothing back. Imagine what she'd be like in the bedroom…_

He found his breeches becoming uncomfortably tight at the thought and shifted his position.

The dance allowed her a momentary pause. In one quick movement she tore off her mask, tossing it to one side. Pirouetting neatly once, the red ribbon that had kept her hair twisted up in a sleek chignon at the nape of her neck was now in her hands, and he heard gasps rise up as her hair tumbled down onto her shoulders as she spun.

Her features were flawless. Large dark eyes, somehow both innocent and indescribably seductive at once, were fringed with long eyelashes. High cheekbones and a straight nose complemented a dainty mouth with utterly kissable lips, framed by luxurious curls of chestnut brown hair, gleaming in the soft light.

And her figure – absolutely perfect. Tiny waist, a white, full bosom, deliciously rounded hips, glimpses of those slim, long legs when her skirt whirled up as she spun…

Weasley smiled slowly as she raised her chin, giving him a mischievous, challenging look. In a blur, he too had discarded his mask. Then the dance resumed.

"Mesmerising, isn't she?" said Blaise a trifle hoarsely. Draco barely heard him.

The music grew quicker, almost taking on a life of its own. _La Veuve Noire's_ feet traced intricate patterns, never missing a beat. Neither did Weasley's, earning Draco's reluctant respect.

She leant back against Weasley's shoulder, his arms enveloping her, her turned head and closed eyes allowing him to press his lips against the tantalising curve of her neck. Then the dance caught them up once more and they were spinning around the floor again.

A pang of red hot emotion shot through Draco. He couldn't even place a name on it – jealousy, envy, anger … _desire _…

The music grew yet faster, their dancing more rapid, more passionate. Just as Draco thought it was impossible for them to get any quicker, the music swelled in a crescendo, then ended.

As the last chord was struck, Weasley dipped her more deeply than before. She arched her back till her hair brushed the floor. As she flung out a leg, the skirt of her gown blossomed out, the black hem adding a dash of the dramatic.

There was absolute silence as, one arm around her slender waist, Weasley brought her upright again. On her tiptoes, pressed full-length against him, she slowly brought her leg up to curve around his waist even as he equally slowly slid a hand from her knee to her thigh to support her, their mouths almost touching.

Then the applause began. It was thunderous from the men, but Draco saw grudging admiration even on the partially concealed faces of the women as they clapped.

"Does she always dance like that?" he asked Blaise, just managing to sound normal.

"Not that I've seen," answered Blaise, his voice slightly strained. "She's always been magnificent, but _that _… today's a special occasion, I suppose."

Weasley released her reluctantly, and she looked up at him through her eyelashes and gave him a slow smile.

"Well done, my lord," she said. "You may have this." And she held out the red ribbon she had somehow retained in her hand.

In what almost seemed to be awe, Weasley took it from her. "You were beyond words – _La Veuve Noire_. You were beyond imagination."

"I offer you a choice, my lord," said the Black Widow. "You may keep it, and I shall tie it on for you, wherever you choose. Or you shall tie it on for me – wherever you choose."

Weasley looked as though a benevolent rainbow had deposited an extremely alluring, seductive pot of gold in front of him. "As much as I treasure such an honour, I would willingly sacrifice it to you, my lady. I shall tie it on for you."

"What's with the red ribbon?" said Draco in an aside to Blaise.

"It's her trademark," said Blaise, watching the couple. "She only ever wears black or white, but she always carries a touch of red on her, usually a ribbon. One time, though, she painted her lips red and kissed her way down from Finnigan's shoulder to his hand, then did things to his fingers with her mouth that nearly made him collapse-"

He broke off as Weasley knelt in front of _La Veuve Noire_, wrapping the ribbon twice around her ankle. Then Weasley looked up, a sly smile on his face as he began to slide the ribbon up, obviously daring her to stop him.

She rewarded him with a smile, childlike in its innocence. As his hands went higher, now halfway up her calf, she caught her gown up in both hands. Eyes cast down demurely, she lifted her skirt up, inch by inch, keeping pace with him.

Draco's breath caught in his throat as more and more of her creamy skin, more of her slim legs were revealed. Another red hot pang shot through him, and he almost groaned.

Weasley finally stopped at the middle of her upper thigh, deftly knotting the ribbon. As he rose to his feet and bowed to her, she lowered her gown and curtseyed to him, then gave him her hand.

"_La Veuve Noire _has chosen," said Blaise, as Weasley led her up the grand staircase, away from the ballroom. "Lucky man."

Draco made some sort of noise in reply, downing his glass of port.

Blaise glanced at him and laughed. "Seen something interesting?" he said innocently.

"I'll wager you did too," said Draco shortly. "Let's go."

"You've got it bad, my man," said Blaise, grinning.

"Shut up. Let's go, I said."

* * *

**When I wrote this around one and a half years ago, I was sort of thinking of the dance scene from the first Zorro movie (the general feel of it, not necessarily the specific movements), if you'd like to check it out. Which you should. I mean, yowza. Although when I consider it now, it doesn't exactly fit - so really I'm just advertising Zorro haha.**

**Note: Watier's was a high-class gambling club for men. Membership was gained through approval from a select group of social leaders.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **By the way, I don't consider the scenes thus far as particularly graphic. I'll warn for the graphic ones.

Was wondering, would you prefer I update more and go back and change things as and when, or I take longer and have everything fit together perfectly? Because frankly there are heaps of bits that I'm not sure where to put and that makes me wary of updating :/

* * *

Draco bent to kiss her hand. "Well met, my lady."

She looked up at him, maddeningly innocent. "Who are you, my lord?"

"Does it matter? What matters is I have wealth enough." He raised his eyebrows, daring her to refute it.

She only laughed, a delighted, youthful sound that contrasted with their surroundings – a lushly decorated bedroom – and her clothing, a black dressing gown that fell open invitingly, allowing him tantalising glimpses of white silk within.

"A man after my own heart," said she, reaching up to unknot his cravat and throw it onto a chair. The tips of her full breasts brushed against his chest, and he imagined that he could feel their heat. "What do you want me to do, my lord? Or more to the point," she abruptly seized his shirt and yanked hard, pulling him off-balance so that they tumbled onto the bed and he could feel every inch of her soft body against his, "what do you want to do to me?" Her whisper tickled his ear as she lay under him, completely at his mercy, and he could resist no longer. In one swift movement, he ripped off her robe, leaving her clad in nothing more than a thin silk chemise, and then he was kissing her fiercely, his hands going to those soft, inviting breasts, to those satin-smooth legs…

"Having a nice dream?" breathed a female voice in his ear, and he jerked awake. Astraea was watching him amusedly.

Sharp disillusionment slammed into him, and for a moment all he could do was lie there, trying to control his breathing.

Astraea laughed softly. "Oh, Draco. There's no need to stop. Tell me, what were you dreaming about?"

He let his desire show as his eyes blatantly roamed over her body. "You," he said huskily.

She rolled onto him, trapping the evidence of his lust between her thighs, skilfully grinding against him until he groaned, his hands reaching for her hips.

"You like that, darling?" she murmured.

"Rather," he managed.

As she trailed kisses down onto his chest and he felt himself slide into her slick warmth, he closed his eyes, and only saw the face of _La Veuve Noire_, her lips curved in a mocking, knowing smile.

* * *

"Leaving so soon?" said Blaise in surprise. "It's only nine."

"I'm not interested in all this," said Draco, throwing down his cards as he gestured towards their surroundings.

"It's fascinating! Prince wasn't exaggerating when he said this was fun."

Draco glanced around him in distaste. Prince had given Blaise the bright idea of frequenting Muggle clubs. Tonight they were at White's.

"I'm tired of playing cards," was all he said.

"Tired of cards?" said Golden Ball Hughes incredulously. "My dear sir, this is singular indeed. One might wonder why you are here at all."

Draco's lip curled into a sneer as he looked at the fat, overdressed Muggle who was perspiring heavily.

"Mr Meadowes is rather eccentric, sir," hastily interspersed Blaise, throwing a look at Draco to beg him not to blow their cover.

"I will not disagree with that," said Hughes, his chins wobbling as he laughed.

"I perceive that there are other gentlemen willing to take our places," said Draco, with the faintest suggestion of a drawl. "Pray excuse us. I have business elsewhere, though I am loathe to lose the pleasure of your company. But we must bear these trials as best we can."

"Aye, aye, go off then, young buck," said his Grace the Duke of Norfolk indulgently. "Off to chase a bit of muslin, I daresay."

Draco bowed slightly and moved away, heading out of the club. Behind him, he heard Blaise make their apologies.

"Must you do this?" he said irritably to Blaise as they stepped out into the cool fresh air, walking down the street. "The Muggles don't even have the sense to invent something to replace Cooling Charms."

"They never had Cooling Charms," said Blaise placatingly. "This is all they know. I daresay they'll figure something out eventually."

"I am not interested in spending any more evenings in that stuffy place."

"I still think it's fun. And their port is excellent. Merlin, I nearly paid that fat old Muggle in Galleons. Nothing like almost revealing our world to unsuspecting Muggles to keep you on your toes."

"What is wrong with you?" said Draco in exasperation.

"Widen your horizons, Draco. I hear that they've invented this new game. You look for the Watch – that's the Muggle policemen – on a dark night, sock him one on the nose and run. Want to give it a go?"

"As much entertainment as that promises, I'm afraid I'll pass. I flatter myself with surviving my disappointment."

"You're extremely boring tonight. What's the matter with you? Some other place you want to be?" Blaise suddenly cocked his head. "Come to think of it, you've been boring _and _in a foul mood ever since that evening."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He knew exactly what Blaise was talking about.

"Ah, _l'amour_," sighed Blaise. "_La Veuve Noire_, of course. She's undeniably fascinating. I'm tempted to check in on her too."

"I'm not-"

"I've just gotten an excellent idea," said Blaise, snapping his fingers. "I'm going to the Establishment tonight."

Draco glared at him. Undaunted, Blaise grinned. "You can come too, if you want," he called over his shoulder as he strolled away.

Despite himself, Draco's lips quirked up briefly. Blaise could be absurd and annoying at times … but he was a good friend.

* * *

The Establishment was quiet that night, relatively speaking. There was no ball, so Draco and Blaise found themselves ushered into a smaller, cosier sitting room. A few men were there too, but there were plenty of females to go around.

Several women looked up as they entered. Blaise grinned at them openly and their looks turned speculative.

"Remember your Autumn?" said Draco to him in an undertone. "Whatever happens to you doesn't make a difference to me, but personally I'm fond of my unmentionables."

"You remember your Astraea," retorted Blaise. "Besides, I already asked one of the servants to fetch her. What's the harm in flirting a little while I wait?"

Moving to sit next to a pretty blonde, he left Draco standing alone. Ignoring the come-hither fan another blonde woman was waving in his direction, Draco cast his gaze around the room and found the one he was looking for.

She was seated alone in a chair in front of the fire, staring into the leaping flames. A red ribbon was threaded through her curls, almost hidden from sight. Shadows danced on her skin, and Draco suddenly had this overpowering curiosity as to how she would look in a dress of colour.

Failing that, how she looked in no dress would be fine, too.

"Nobody tonight?" he inquired, coming up behind her silently.

_La Veuve Noire_ showed no sign of surprise. "I find solitude a most charming pastime occasionally."

He gave a low laugh. "Is that meant for me?"

"Not too unintelligent, I see." She leaned back and looked at him directly. Something jumped in his stomach as their eyes met for the first time, surprising him in its intensity. But her eyes were bored, uninterested.

"Not many women speak so to a man. Especially a rich man."

Draco watched her closely, but the corners of her mouth only turned up in a sardonic smile. "Do you propose to pay me to be…polite…to you?" she asked.

"If I did, I would be expecting a bit more than politeness."

"You're wasting your time, my lord," she said. "I do not intend to entertain tonight. You would be better off trying your luck with any of the others." Her gaze was on the flames again, a clear dismissal.

He leaned back into his chair in silence and watched her. After a few minutes, he said, "You're different from who you are in public."

That managed to catch her attention. She regarded him coolly. "Do you think you know me after two minutes?"

"Certainly."

Her lips thinned. "Pray tell."

"You find me annoying."

Rather to his surprise, she laughed. "It's so rare to find honesty within these walls," she said.

"May I remind you that you yourself reside within these walls?" he drawled.

Her brief amusement vanished. "I don't forget it. Perhaps you shouldn't either."

Another pause fell. Draco took her not ordering him away or moving away herself to be a good sign. Perhaps it was the best any man could get out of her.

"I used to love watching the fire when I was a child," he said.

"Marshmallows," she said quietly, as though speaking to herself. "A woven rug on the floor. Warmth. Laughter."

"A memory from your past?" he asked.

She started, seemingly having forgotten his presence. There was thinly veiled impatience in the glance she cast at him. "Why are you here? I don't believe you came here for conversation. I've already told you I'm not available tonight."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Did I ask you for anything, madame?" he said coolly.

Translation: stop thinking so highly of yourself.

Her eyes gleamed. She understood him all right.

She stood, looking down at him. Then she slowly took a step nearer, moving with an indefinable grace as her eyes raked him from head to toe, deliberately lingering on where his breeches hid his manhood.

Another step, another moment of that scorching gaze, and he felt himself beginning to react visibly to the woman's overwhelming sensuality. It was in every part of her: in the fall of her hair, in the curve of her lips, in the sway of her hips, hips that would fit so well in his hands…

He tore his gaze away from the gorgeous body hidden beneath a simple, form-fitting black gown and looked up. She was watching him watch her. Almost casually, she perched on the arm of his chair and turned her head to meet his gaze.

"Did you not?" she half-whispered, a hand resting on his arm. Her closeness was intoxicating, her scent elusive and taunting, and suddenly he found himself gripping her wrist to pull her down into his lap.

It would take more than a simple tug to hold her, he realised too late, as she deftly slid off the chair, satisfaction glittering in her dark eyes.

"Good night, my lord," she said, beginning to pull away.

"Not so fast," he snapped, angered at how easily she had drawn him in. He still held her wrist, and now his grip tightened.

"I would not do that if I were you, my lord," she said softly. "Madame does not take well to those who seek to avail themselves of the facilities of the Establishment for free or by force."

Draco nearly snarled that he had no need to force any woman to his bed, but bit back the words. Controlling the mix of lust and heady anger that she had stirred up, he instead said mockingly, "So that is all you are – a facility. More expensive than others, but a facility nonetheless."

_La Veuve Noire_ smiled. "While you and others see me as such, a facility is all I will ever be to you. It does not matter what I think, but what you think. Am I wrong?"

There was the overt taunting, but Draco thought for a moment he saw a flash of irony that did not seem to suit her. He let her go. She curtsied to him and left the room without another word.

Glancing around, he saw a few people watching him curiously. Blaise was nowhere to be seen.

In a fouler mood than ever, he drew his cloak around him and left.

* * *

**Note: **In that era, young nobles were often reckless and pleasure-seeking and did loads of dumb stuff. Wizarding society parallels that, but where Muggles did stupid things such as pretending to hold up other aristocrats for fun, wizards played at sneaking into Muggle society and passing off as one of them.

**Note 2: **Golden Ball Hughes was a nickname for one of the aristocrats of that era.

**Note 3:** I do almost no research, so I'm going off Regency books I've read. Which are quite a lot. Take all the historical stuff with a pinch of salt.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** **I'm rather caught up in another pairing at the moment, and Draco-Hermione stories have slightly palled on me. But I still have a fondness for this story though, so take heart. Reviews make me update faster ^^**

* * *

_It was raining._

_She looked around frantically. Nothing seemed familiar. She'd chased her puppy, but when she'd finally caught him and turned to go back, she realised she was lost._

_Her puppy whined and wriggled in her arms. Tears starting to her eyes, she clutched his warm body closer. "Mum?" she called, but her voice was thin and weak against the pounding rain. "Daddy?"_

_She sat down in the middle of the narrow lane and cried._

_"What's the matter?" said a voice behind her. She screamed and scrambled to her feet._

_Peering out over the hedge was a boy a little older than herself. He had blue eyes and red hair and a lot of freckles._

_"I'm lost," she said._

_"Oh." He wrinkled his nose. "Don't you live around here? I've seen you sometimes."_

_"I was chasing Barks," she explained stiffly. "I don't know how to go home."_

_"Come in then," he said. "My parents will get you home."_

_She hesitated._

_"You wanna stay out here?"_

_"No, but –"_

_"Come in, you git. The gate's over this way." But he grinned._

_Doubtfully, she followed him into his garden._

_"What's your name?" he asked. Strangely, he didn't seem to be wet despite the rain._

_"What's yours?" she retorted._

_"I'm Ron."_

* * *

"There's going to be a ball in a week's time."

"Really?" He was knotting his cravat, scowling at the creases in it.

"For me." Astraea was curled up on the bed, watching him dress.

"Huh." He wrenched his coat on.

In the mirror, he caught a faint tightening of Astraea's lips at his brusqueness. However, there was no trace of annoyance when she said, "I thought you might not have known about it."

"You're right. I didn't."

Astraea did purse her lips this time, looking away. "So now you know."

"It would seem so."

Draco knew perfectly well that she was waiting for him to assure her that he would be there, but some perverse spirit was making it very difficult to play up to her expectations.

"Goodbye," he said.

He was almost out of the door when she called, "Draco?"

"Yes?"

"I – " She stopped. "Will you be there?"

"Maybe," said the same perverse spirit.

A flash of hurt, quickly hidden, crossed Astraea's face. "All right, then," she said. "I was just wondering."

He shrugged and left.

* * *

Wrapping herself in her dressing gown, Astoria sat down on her bed and stared at the rumpled covers.

Draco had been different for the past month. Something had changed between them. He was colder towards her, more irritable and distant and she didn't dare to ask him why. He had always worn this air of untouchability when it came to his personal life and feelings.

She supposed it was just a passing thing. Perhaps someone had irked him or a tenant was giving him problems – though she couldn't imagine a situation where he cared enough about a tenant to be in a bad mood.

Unless she was the one? Had she done anything to anger him? She was sure she hadn't – unless she had. Why didn't he give her a chance to explain or apologise, then?

Standing, she tried to shrug off her thoughts. Probably it was nothing. He would get over it.

But she missed him, even when he was with her. He wasn't the Draco she had come to know, the one who would on rare occasions let her glimpse his days outside the walls of the Establishment, who would talk with her after the loving was done, who made her feel that she might, just might, be special to him.

Even his love-making was different. His touch was more possessive, more fierce, almost as though something she knew nothing of was driving him.

It had thrilled her at first when he had seized her roughly and crushed her to him, kissing her fiercely and tumbling them both onto the bed. She had thought that it meant that he wanted her desperately, maybe was even somewhat afraid of losing her. But now, a month later, she was no longer so sure.

Frustration, that was it. It was faint, but it tinged his behaviour around her. Last night was the perfect example. Unusually, he had stayed for the whole night. She was careful to cover her delight, wondering if it meant that everything was all right again.

She had been wrong. He had held her, yes, but without any gentleness, and the humour that occasionally lurked in his grey eyes was completely gone. He had barely even spoken to her at all.

Was there something he wanted her to do, something that he might be embarrassed to ask for? Men were so peculiarly sensitive about what they did in the bedroom, so insistent on proving their manhood. Draco had never displayed any insecurity, but it could be there all the same.

Astoria smiled, sure that she understood. The next time he came, she would make it clear that she would do anything. Better yet, she would act as though she wanted it, so he wouldn't have to fear that she would think him strange.

If only he would come to the ball…

She tried to push that thought away. It was far better to not expect anything from Draco, especially in his current capricious mood.

But he was different again when he was asleep. He had fallen asleep almost immediately after their last round once he had withdrawn from her. There was a strange intimacy in him sleeping next to her, as though he was comfortable enough with her to let her see him so vulnerable. As she pushed back a stray strand of hair falling over his eyes and tugged the covers over him, she could believe that she was a normal woman with a husb-

_I have to be careful_, she thought. _I'm treading on the most dangerous ground a woman in this house could tread on._

Ringing the bell for a servant to draw a bath for her, she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, inhaling his scent that clung still to her pillow and her skin.

* * *

The ballroom was once again aglow with light and music. Women clad in daring ball gowns flirted behind their fans while men flirted right back, stealing kisses when they could. Music streamed from the dais where musicians played, although an occasional wrong note proclaimed that yet another musician had been more focused on the women than the music.

Surrounded as she was by men, Astoria kept glancing at the doors. He had not come. He truly had not come. She had had a new dress made in emerald – his favourite colour, and a colour that brought out her eyes – especially for tonight and he had not come. Disappointment filled her mouth with a metallic tang and she almost snapped pettishly at Seamus, but she caught Madame Cerise's sharp gaze and smiled at him instead.

"Dance with me, flower of the night," begged Seamus. "Astraea, star-maiden, dance the first dance with me!"

"What will you give me for it?"

"Am I not enough?"

"Forget him, Astraea," interrupted Boot. "Dance with me."

The prospect of dancing with heavy-footed Boot was enough to put any woman off. She turned back to Seamus, wrinkling her nose. "Promise me more."

"I shall give you my heart. What more can a man give – ah, crap."

Startled at Seamus's abrupt change from cheeky to chagrined, Astoria followed his gaze to the double doors of the ballroom and suddenly a delicious glow stole over her.

Draco had come! He was there, immaculately dressed as always, his gaze sweeping the room for her. He had come to the ball – for her!

Before she could forget herself and run to him, Madame Cerise was at his side. "Welcome, _monsieur_. It is rare that my ballroom is honoured with your presence."

"The pleasure is all mine," he answered, his eyes still searching the busy scene before him.

"I suppose I've no chance now," said Seamus glumly. Astoria barely heard him.

Draco saw her then, and a faint frown creased his forehead. Turning a shoulder to him, Astoria asked, "What were you saying, my lord?"

Seamus's eyes lit up. "You mean you'll still consider?"

"Here, Astraea, how about me?" said Boot indignantly.

"Depends on what you're offering." She glanced up at Seamus through her eyelashes.

"I – "

"Excuse me," said a voice coolly from behind her, and her heart leapt. "I believe the lady promised me this dance."

"Malfoy, you have got to stop monopolising the women," said Seamus in disgust.

"Oh, come on," said Avery. "The rest of us deserve a turn."

"Yeah, Malfoy," chimed in Boot.

"Perhaps you ought to improve your dress sense, then," said Draco. "It might help ... if anything could."

Boot glanced down involuntarily at his lavender waistcoat and yellow breeches. "What's wrong with this?" he demanded belligerently.

"Oh, nothing at all," said Draco, a faint sneer curling his lips. "Excuse us, please."

The musicians struck up once more in a lively waltz as he led her to the floor. Almost shyly, Astoria looked up. "You came after all," she said.

"Only for you, jewel of my heart," he said sweetly.

Astoria laughed, for she had seen the flash of humour in his eyes. "You are too kind, my lord."

"I figured that it might be amusing to annoy all the other men who want you."

"And was that the only reason?" she said saucily.

"I greatly enjoy the scenery here too." He spun her around, and when she was in his arms once more she saw a rare smile on his face.

He was her Draco again. The thought made her heart leap with relief and she felt so light on her feet that she wondered that she did not float away.

"What scenery?" she breathed, pressing herself against him rather more closely than the dance demanded.

"I have always admired the potted plants," he said.

"And?"

"The lovely music."

She pirouetted. "Anything else, my lord?"

"The charming company," he said blandly. "Where else could I find men of such entertaining conversation such as Avery and Boot?"

Behind them, Astraea saw Avery drunkenly stumble into a table and knock it over. People leapt up from the seats, exclaiming in annoyance as glass shattered everywhere.

"Is that all?" she asked.

He looked at her enigmatically, then flicked her nose. "Take a guess."

Her heart warmed at the careless, intimate gesture. Laughing, she let the music sweep the two of them away into their own little world.

* * *

The Rules of the Establishment forbade the women from spending the whole evening dancing with the same man. Astoria didn't mind. Dancing the whole night with Draco would be more happiness than she could hold.

At the memory of his smile, she automatically sought him out among the crowd of men. There he was, standing to one side with a few other men, holding a glass of wine and watching her. She tossed her head and flirted saucily with Seamus, her current partner, who promptly overdid his _friendliness_. Inwardly, she sighed. One more dance to go. Then it would be the last dance, after which she would leave with him.

Circling the ballroom in James Peverell's arms, Astoria looked around for Draco once more. He had left his place, probably to refill his drink.

And after this dance ended, he would come to her, to claim her hand for the final dance and to mark her as his own for tonight; tonight and many nights after…

"What are you thinking of, my pretty?" inquired Peverell, smiling.

"Nothing but you, of course."

His hand tightened on her waist. "Merlin, woman, do you have any idea what you do to a man when you look up at him like that?"

"My lord?" But she could not help laughing as he spun her around, her hair swirling around her shoulders.

He pulled her closer to him than the dance strictly required as the music slowed. "I think you know what I'm talking about," he said meaningfully as she felt his hardness press against her thigh.

Laughter bubbled out of her. Oh, life was good tonight. She was young and she was pretty and she was wanted and she had Draco…

…_Draco…_

Her eyes widened. Draco was across the room – and he was not getting a drink. He was dancing.

And he was dancing with _Cat_.

* * *

**The main source of income for nobles used to be their lands, which were rented out to tenants. Trade was considered lowering; merchants - or Cits - were not considered _bon ton_.**


End file.
